


risk calculations

by dieofthatroar



Series: stuck inside, here's a ficlet [4]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Getting Together, M/M, Post-Canon, Suicidal Thoughts, and they were quarantined, future epidemic, omg they were... well kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:59:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23205088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dieofthatroar/pseuds/dieofthatroar
Summary: People were dying. Or, at least Hank was told that people were dying. It was hard to know with all of that carnage locked away in buildings that never changed from the outside. He was used to be on the front line, of seeing the effects of whatever bullshit growing pains the world was going through. This, though? This felt too much like religion.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Series: stuck inside, here's a ficlet [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1665151
Kudos: 22





	risk calculations

Day 0:

They put Connor back on duty just last month and he worked like he had something to prove. To the department, to himself, but also to Hank. Not that Hank asked for that shit. To appease (some) of his guilt every time Connor stepped in to move Hank away from the line of fire or remind him of a deadline for some paperwork he was trying his hardest to forget, he invited Connor over to his place for… for what? He couldn’t prepare a meal for him, or even offer him any comfort. The company, though, was what Connor said he appreciated. Some shitty version of that at least Hank could do.

Day 5:

There was talk of some virus spreading over in Eastern Europe. The news chattered about it between news segments about reparations for androids and the rebuilding of Detroit under new equal rights laws. Some new strain of flu that was putting people in the hospital.

“Lieutenant,” Connor said, turning off the TV and brushing Sumo off his legs. “If we want to make it in on time today, you actually have to get changed.”

Hank grunted and headed toward his bedroom to look for a clean shirt.

Day 13:

They were calling it H7N9. They had picked up a few cases on the coasts, set up quarantine, but was still just a thing far away. There were real things to do, here. Now.

Connor showed up at his door in the morning again. This time Hank had his shirt already on before he knocked.

Day 25:

People were dying. Or, at least Hank was told that people were dying. It was hard to know with all of that carnage locked away in buildings that never changed from the outside. He was used to be on the front line, of _seeing_ the effects of whatever bullshit growing pains the world was going through. This, though? Felt too much like religion, the way the big suits gave them instructions from above saying it was good for them all.

_Don’t you want to be saved?_

Hell, Hank had a hard time doing things for his own health on a good day. For others, he thought, it was easier.

He put on his shirt and was halfway out the door before Connor showed up. “You’re eager,” Connor said with that impassive stare that always meant he was calculating the risk of saying something more direct.

“What of it?”

“You’re not scared?” Connor said. He didn’t say it like an accusation. It was another puzzle piece for him in the ever changing mystery of humanity.

“Nah,” Hank said. “Bigger baddies need my attention.”

Connor nodded and ducked into the car.

Day 37:

The precinct was bare bones. It was hard for them, balancing the autonomy of the newly freed android officers and detectives while considering that they were the ones immune to the disease that had already put a significant part of the population in temporary mobile hospital units popping up around the city. The androids, though, often more than their freedom, cherished their sense of duty. In a time like this, they liked feeling needed.

At least, that was what Connor said when Hank asked yet again.

“Which is why,” Connor said with a tone that was increasingly teetering on the edge of warning, “you need to stay inside. You’re not essential—”

“—who are you calling a useless, old—”

“You know that’s not what I mean.” If Connor was someone programmed to show exacerbation, he would be way past that point now. Good thing he was made for interrogations instead.

“What?” Hank said, trying to sound tough in a way he knew never worked for Connor. “Are _you_ scared?”

Connor didn’t respond, but his LED spun orange for a few moments.

“You know that androids can’t contract this virus,” he said.

They left it at that.

Day 43:

Hank was finally quarantined to his house. It was a total lockdown of the city, “essential” human personnel included, apparently. Androids ran the world now, as many wanted at the start of that revolution.

Vaguely, Hank wondered if they had something to do with this.

He pushed the thought away. No. Gods made humanity suffer for their sins through plagues for many centuries before they went as far as playing with life itself.

“Fucking finally,” Hank said as he let Connor in. “Where have you been?”

“Working,” Connor said. He studied Hank, and if something made of metal and plastic could look tired, he looked it now. “Why are you dressed like that?”

Hank looked down at his shirt. It wasn’t stained with anything that he could see—though Connor had super-detective vision that could trace a drop of blood a month old, so what did he know? It was one of his normal, ugly _don’t give a fuck,_ work shirts.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s your office shirt,” Connor said. “You usually wear it on Tuesdays because it’s your second-favorite and you do your laundry on Sunday.”

“Why the fuck—”

“You’re not going into work, Lieutenant.”

Hank crossed his arms. “Sure, I’m not going anywhere, fine. But I’m still on the fucking force. I can still do something.”

“I’ll get you some paperwork.”

“Ugh,” Hank said.

“What else do you propose?” Connor said.

“I’m your _partner._ I should be out there with you, making sure you don’t fuck yourself up—”

“I’m capable,” Connor said. “And I was assigned a temporary android partner. Her name is Francesca.”

Something twisted in Hank’s gut. He didn’t like how much he didn’t like that.

“Fine,” Hank said. “Whatever.”

Connor only looked amused. “I’ll get you the paperwork,” he said.

Day 49:

Connor caught him wandering around the neighborhood with Sumo.

“I was going for a _walk,”_ Hank said. He slammed the door behind him. He was acting like a child, but he didn’t care. “It wasn’t like I was talking to anyone. Or like I could even _see_ anyone, god.”

The TV was on somewhere in the house. It was the same news as it had been for a month _H7N9 cases still climbing… death tolls coming in from different countries… humanitarian aid delivered through android fleets…_

Connor’s LED was orange. “This is the _third time_ I’ve found you out there _._ It’s for your own safety,” he said. “How far would you have gone if I hadn’t found you? What stupid risks would you try until something _did_ happen?”

“You’re the one who didn’t show up yesterday! What happens if you just… I don’t know… forget about me? Leave me to rot without food, I’ll need to go out eventually. Fuck this.”

“I wouldn’t just leave you,” Connor said. Hank ignored the sound of hurt under his calm demeanor. The LED was still orange. "And you have androids deliver food all the time." 

“Sure,” Hank said. “Got your Android utopia, who the fuck needs an old man weighing you down? It’s what you always wanted. Leave me in the dump and move on with your career.”

Connor frowned. “Why aren’t you scared?” he asked.

“Because it’s just words! Because it’s words and an empty front yard!” Hank said. “I’ve never been scared of a gun against my skull, why would I be scared of this?”

“Because it could kill you,” Connor said.

Hank huffed. “Why are _you_ acting so scared?” he said. “It’s not like you can get it.”

Connor’s LED blinked red. “Because it could kill you, Hank” Connor repeated, then turned on his heel and left.

Day 50:

Connor didn’t come by that morning. Hank didn’t leave the house. He didn't put on a clean shirt, either. He turned off the TV and decided to read through some of the papers Connor left the other day, just to keep his mind from turning. From running away where he really would rather not follow.

Sumo whined. Hank cocked his head at him. "I know, bud. Me too." 

Day 53:

He hadn’t seen Connor since their fight, but on the morning of the second day, he found a package by his back door. _I didn’t forget about you_ , said a note taped to some groceries, dog food, and a new binder of case files. Hank looked inside the package of food. It was too healthy for his liking, but what was he going to do?

Day 56:

Connor was at the door. “Connor, you absolute piece of scrap metal—” he took a step forward, but Connor took a step back.

“Don’t—don’t touch me.”

The twist came back to Hank’s stomach. He disguised it with a snarl. “Why?”

“Fomite,” Connor said. He gestured at himself.

“What?”

“Viruses live on surfaces for a few days,” Connor said. “I haven’t disinfected myself since coming in contact with some inmates that I was—”

“Whatever,” Hank said. He turned away. “Can you at least come in?”

Connor paused, then nodded. “I’ll run the protocol in your bathroom,” he said. “Then I’ll make you dinner.”

Hank didn’t want to sound as grateful as he did when he said thank you.

Day 59:

“It’s slowing,” Connor said, making dinner for Hank for the third day in a row.

“I know.”

“They’re making plans for a structural reintroduction of—”

“I don’t really want to hear about it,” Hank said.

“I thought you’d be excited to be able to get out of here soon.”

“I am,” Hank said. He shrugged. “Just don’t want to get my hopes up, I guess.”

They ate. Or, Hank ate and Connor kept a pleasant line of conversation going. As Hank put the dishes away and Connor gathered his things to leave, Hank stopped him.

His hand was hesitant as he touched his elbow—not a grab, but a suggestion of one. “Don’t—don’t leave? Just for tonight, I just—I’ve been lonely and—”

Connor left his jacket on the hanger by the door.

“Of course,” he said.

Day 62: 

Connor had his feet up on Hank’s lap, stretched out on the couch, petting Sumo’s head. He looked perfectly at home here. For the first time in the past few months, Hank didn’t feel that need to leave.

Day 67:

It still felt like a religion, though more real now that he had names and faces and pain to go with whatever was going on. It felt like some sort of belief to stay indoors as Connor came and went, trusting he’d be back, bringing news and food and company. It felt like faith to ask, every night, for Connor to stay, and grace for him to always say yes.

“You really want me to be your partner again?” Hank asked as Connor helped him slip into his newly cleaned shirt.

If Connor rolled his eyes, he’d have done it then.

“Fine,” Hank said. As Connor did up the buttons, Hank felt his cheeks warm. 

“Someone needs to keep you from killing yourself,” Connor said. 

"Stupid android," Hank said. "Let's go." 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm dieofthatroar on tumblr, come say hi!


End file.
